"He is the son of one of your father's old military friends, when your
father was quartered with his regiment in Canada. Your cheeks mustn't
flush up! If they do, I shall go away."
She was astonished, but not agitated. Captain Wragge had begun by
interesting her in the remote past, which she only knew by hearsay,
before he ventured on the delicate ground of her own experience.
In a moment more she advanced to her next question: "What was his name?"
"Kirke," proceeded the captain. "Did you never hear of his father, Major
Kirke, commanding officer of the regiment in Canada? Did you never hear
that the major helped your father through a great difficulty, like the
best of good fellows and good friends?"
Yes; she faintly fancied she had heard something about her father and an
officer who had once been very good to him when he was a young man.
But she could not look back so long. "Was Mr. Kirke poor?" Even Captain
Wragge's penetration was puzzled by that question. He gave the true
answer at hazard. "No," he said, "not poor."
Her next inquiry showed what she had been thinking of. "If Mr. Kirke was
not poor, why did he come to live in that house?"
"She has caught me!" thought the captain.
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